


All You Have to Do Is Ask

by Uozumi



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Awkward First Times, I Blame Tumblr, M/M, innocent!jamie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 09:30:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1683434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uozumi/pseuds/Uozumi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Almost done with the seminary, Jamie meets Malcolm, a man he will never fully be rid of well into adulthood, who offers Jamie  temptations no one offered Jamie before.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All You Have to Do Is Ask

**Author's Note:**

> **Title** _All You Have to Do Is Ask_  
>  **Author** Uozumi **Fandom** _The Thick of It_  
>  **Character(s)/Pairing(s)** Jamie MacDonald, Malcolm Tucker; Malcolm/Jamie  
>  **Genre** Alternate Reality/Drama/Slash  
>  **Rating** NC-17  
>  **Word Count** 13,415  
>  **Disclaimer** The Thick of It c. Iannucci, BBC  
>  **Summary** Almost done with the seminary, Jamie meets Malcolm, a man he will never fully be rid of well into adulthood, who offers Jamie temptations no one offered Jamie before.  
>  **Warning(s)** safe sex, smoking, potential spoilers for all series and specials of _The Thick of It_  
>  **Notes** Someone was like “innocent!Jamie” and I was like “unleash the bunnies.” Then, of course, the fic ended up spanning decades as my fic strangely tend to do in this fandom.

**_All You Have to Do Is Ask_ **

Jamie did not want to believe it was a sign. Yet, St. Peters, which had only moved to Newlands a few years ago, had now moved to Bearsden. They called it Chesters College now. Jamie felt like a fly hopping between the Glasgow suburbs. He was almost twenty-two and despite the location drama, his life felt stable. Jamie’s life was always stable. His parents were loving and encouraging. He was the baby of the family and he spent his life under many protective wings. He had no sexual interest in women, though he could appreciate their beauty enough to fake it when necessary. Homosexuality had only been decriminalized in Scotland five years ago and Jamie had never considered it. He had the Word and that was all he needed to feel fulfilled.

Christmas holidays were approaching. Jamie hunched over the typewriter on his desk. He stared at his paper and leaned back in his chair. Some of his housemates were part of the seminary but two of them were not. Jamie set his fingers on the keys, but before he could resume typing, there was an obnoxious whine of an electric guitar from the ground floor of the house. It transitioned into a rhythmic torture of the strings. Drums soon joined and other guitars as well. The song sounded vaguely like something off the radio, but the beat rushed and the bassist was playing the bass line from the wrong song. 

Jamie could not remember his next sentence he wanted to write. He heard a loud, thick Glasgow accent shout above the noise, “Fuck. Fuck! That’s wrong. All of it is shite.” 

The music quieted like a clown car wreck. Jamie sighed. He could hear his housemates and two voices he could not recognize arguing downstairs. Jamie sighed. He could work while they argued. His fingers returned to his typewriter. After three sentences, the song began again with a little more cohesion. It was loud, raucous, and Jamie found snippets of the chorus in his paper amongst his quotes from Corinthians I. Jamie ripped the page from the typewriter and balled it up in frustration. He threw it into the bin. He rubbed his face and listened to the song dissolve into arguing again. Jamie sighed. He got the page out of the bin and set it on the desk so he could copy the decent contents onto a fresh page. The dying cat wails started again. Jamie got up from his desk and headed downstairs. 

The two bandmates that were not Jamie’s housemates were men Jamie had never seen before. There were three guitars, and a drum kit. “What are you doing?” Jamie asked. The longer he stayed in this house, the more he could understand why people swore frequently. 

“Practice,” one of his housemates’ said. “God allow that?”

“Of course, God allows that,” Jamie said. He sighed. “I’m trying to write something, keep it down.” 

His housemate on the bass turned the volume of his amplifier up and played a few notes. “Then fuck off somewhere else.” 

The frustration building within Jamie bubbled up, but he bit his tongue. Ever since he was a young teenager and realized he had no interest in girls, there had been anger at something he could not articulate. The anger built with each erasure, with each slight. It was so much bigger than the lack of interest in women now. It was so much larger than having rude housemates. Jamie had no outlet for his anger, and tried to funnel it through spirituality. He wanted to be a man of God and giving in to this anger would not help that pursuit. Jamie took a breath. “Whatever,” he said. He went back upstairs and the band continued with their noise. 

A few days after the New Year found Jamie in the city properly. He wanted to visit St. Andrews cathedral. It was calming to go to churches that were off campus. It reminded him why he felt drawn to the priesthood. 

“Hey,” a voice called out from behind Jamie. It was the loud rhythm guitarist from his housemates’ band. The man looked not much older than Jamie and had wild, untamed brown curls. “You’re one of those priests.” 

“In training,” Jamie said. He put his hands in his pockets. “What about you?”

“Journalist,” he said. He smirked. “Not in training.” 

Jamie nodded. The man’s name was Malcolm. Malcolm’s smirk and the hand on Malcolm’s hip drew Jamie’s eyes. Jamie forced himself to look away. 

“Ever get to have fun?” Malcolm asked. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. 

“I mean more than just getting a new copy of the Bible,” Malcolm said. “I’m on my way to a club. Want to come?”

Jamie had never gone to a club before. No one had ever asked and he never thought to go by himself. “You want me to go with you to a club?” 

“Yes or no,” Malcolm said. “The choice is yours.” He started to walk away. 

Jamie followed. The club was dark and underground. It was a local music night and the band playing music were at least ten levels up from the group that pretended to be a band in the house. There was smell of drink and fags. There were also smells Jamie could not identify. 

“Do you want something to drink? First round’s on me. I know we’ve been cunts while you’re working,” Malcolm said after he led them to a table where they could observe the band without getting in the middle of things. 

“Uh…a Coke I guess,” Jamie said. When Malcolm gave him a sceptical look, Jamie said, “Seriously. No added extras.” 

“Alright, alright,” Malcolm said and he left the table. 

Jamie looked around when Malcolm left. There were many people packed into the small space. The majority appeared to be there for the band. Most people appeared to be with significant others. Many were smoking; almost everyone appeared to be drinking alcohol. There was a lot of leather. Even Malcolm had a leather jacket. Jamie felt out of place with his coat, jumper, and slacks. 

Malcolm returned and set a Coke in front of Jamie. He had a beer for himself. Malcolm sat in the seat next to Jamie and got a pad of paper and pen out of his pocket. He wrote some things on the top of the page in an illegible script and settled back in his chair. 

“Taking notes?” Jamie asked. 

“Yeah,” Malcolm said. “I write a music column for _The Herald_.” He sipped his beer and then leaned back in his seat and took a pack of fags from a pocket. “Do you want one?”

“No, thanks,” Jamie said. He had never smoked or been offered a fag before. 

Malcolm lit up and kept his fag in his left hand so he could make notes with his right when necessary. Jamie sipped his coke. The band was good, the longer he listened. Jamie wondered why going to such a place never occurred to him. It was not what he expected. “I’ve been missing out,” he said quietly between songs.

Malcolm looked at him. “If this is your first time to a place like this or hearing a band like that yeah,” he agreed. “There are better bands around. Just don’t get into fucking electronica. It’s the most convoluted annoying shite you’ll ever hear.”

Jamie nodded. He finished his Coke and listened. Malcolm and Jamie stayed through the entire set and on into the next band. Jamie got the next round of drinks when Malcolm had finished his beer. When the second band finished, Malcolm closed up his notepad and stood. “I need food, real fucking food,” he said. “Want to get something before you go home?”

“Okay,” Jamie said. It was a unique night and he was open to sticking with Malcolm for a little longer. 

It was past midnight. There were few places still open. Malcolm led them to a place that smelled good. Malcolm got a burger and a Fanta. Jamie got some fries. They settled into a corner. All the other customers around them seemed to be about their age and most were dressed like Malcolm. 

Malcolm ran a hand through his thick hair to get it out of his eyes. 

“Thanks for taking me with you,” Jamie said. “I’ve had fun.” He poked at his fries with his fork. 

Malcolm nodded. “Good.” He finished off his burger. They paid separately. Malcolm lived in the opposite direction of the bus stop Jamie needed. They parted ways and Jamie caught a bus back out towards Bearsden. 

Jamie took to doing his reading assignments when he knew the band might come over, so he would not waste typewriting equipment. He stretched out on the sofa in the sitting room. The other band members were in the kitchen with Jamie’s housemates when a shadow fell over Jamie’s reading. 

Jamie looked up at Malcolm. He felt something deep in the pit of his stomach twitch. It was a feeling he felt once or twice before with a few boys he went to school with, but never so strongly. “Hey,” Jamie said.

“Hey,” Malcolm said. He spoke quickly, “What are you doing on Friday?”

“Nothing,” Jamie said. He was supposed to prepare things for Sunday morning, but that could wait for Saturday. “Got something in mind?”

“I have to fuck off to some electronic wankfest. Want to come? It’ll make it bearable,” Malcolm said. 

“Sure,” Jamie said before really letting himself think about it. 

“I’ll meet you where we met up last time at seven,” Malcolm said. “The wankfest ends at two in the morning.” 

“Okay,” Jamie said. “I’ll see you then.”

Malcolm nodded and headed back to his bandmates when the last of them arrived. Malcolm was never the first to arrive, but he was never the last to arrive either.

On Friday, Jamie went into the city early. He spent time at St. Andrews cathedral with his thoughts. He wanted guidance. Malcolm was an unanticipated temptation. Jamie could accept not liking girls as natural, but having his hormones react to Malcolm the way they did seemed unnatural. He had plenty of girls show interest in him growing up. This was the first time a boy or a man had shown interest. Jamie took a deep breath. There were no signs or hints at to what he should do. He wondered if he was imagining things. All he knew about men liking other men came from brief snippets on the news before one of his parents changed the channel. He wondered if he tried with one of the girls from his past if he would have this problem. Maybe this was his final temptation before he got to his final year of seminary. 

Jamie headed to the meeting spot a little before seven. Malcolm arrived shortly thereafter. The club was different, but again it was underground. There were lighting effects all over and the smell was markedly different. There were places they could sit. Most people seemed to be on the dance floor doing dance moves that Jamie had never seen before. 

Malcolm put his hand on the small of Jamie’s back and navigated through the crowd. The noise was so loud that Jamie could not hear anything too clearly except for the rhythm of the music. Malcolm asked Jamie something. Jamie could not tell what Malcolm was saying, so he nodded. Malcolm double-checked and Jamie nodded again. Malcolm handed Jamie a beer after a moment and took one for himself. He led them to a table out of the way where they could still hear the music. 

Malcolm got his notepad out. His handwriting was slower, reluctant. He sipped his beer and looked at Jamie. “I told you it was shite,” he said. 

“I’ve heard worse,” Jamie said. It was not a lie. This was marginally better than the small group of women at the church where he grew up singing hymns. The rhythmic, repetitive thumping, however, was growing very old very fast. Jamie sipped his beer tentatively. He had not anticipated that it would be fizzy like a Coke or that it would taste like it smelled. His brain never connected the froth to carbonation and commercials went on and on about smooth tastes so he thought it would be more like a sweet wine. Jamie’s nose wrinkled when he sipped at the beer again. He could feel Malcolm watching him. “What?” Jamie looked at Malcolm so Malcolm could see his face just in case Malcolm could not hear his voice. 

“I can’t believe this is the first time you’ve had a fucking beer,” Malcolm said loud enough that Jamie could hear. 

“It might be my last,” Jamie said, but he went for another sip. The more he tried it, the more it grew on him. “It’s not the first alcoholic drink I’ve had.” 

“I thought the seminary was about sin in the left hand, Jesus in the right,” Malcom said.

“No,” Jamie said. “It’s studying the Word so we can communicate it to the masses. I mean yeah there are some jerks in the cloth, but they’re not that common.”

Malcolm looked dubious. Malcolm scribbled some more notes. Malcolm glanced over at the table near them. Jamie followed his gaze. The group was clearly doing coke lines. Jamie looked away and sipped his beer again. “Have you ever done that?” he asked Malcolm.

Malcolm tilted his head from side to side and then he nodded. “Once, twice,” he said. “I can’t really do it while I’m working.” 

Jamie did not know how to respond to that. He kept drinking his beer until it was all gone. Malcolm still had less than half of his beer left. Jamie frowned. “Why do they keep repeating the same riff? This isn’t an opera.” 

“I don’t know,” Malcolm said. 

The pounding beat and lighting effects were continuous. Jamie could feel the inklings of a headache. After the DJs changed twice, Jamie had the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes. He felt every thump of the synthesizer in his gut. His head ached. He knew it was not a hangover. It felt like how his mother described her migraines. 

Malcolm touched Jamie’s shoulder and helped lead Jamie out of the club. “Jesus. Fuck,” he said. “Can you walk?”

“It’s just a migraine,” Jamie said. “Those damn lights.” He felt Malcolm’s hand grip Jamie’s arm tight. Jamie opened his eyes and closed them again. It was no good. 

“My flat’s near,” Malcolm said. He started steering Jamie. 

Jamie said nothing. Jamie felt like the throbbing in his head was throbbing in his stomach and he could vomit at any given moment. Malcolm lived in a council flat, which was falling into disrepair. The building was older than both Jamie and Malcolm’s ages combined and likely contained asbestos. Jamie leaned heavily on Malcolm in the elevator, trying very, very hard not to vomit. Malcolm herded them off the elevator and into his flat. He deposited Jamie down onto the sofa and set a lined bin in front of him just in case. 

Malcolm brought Jamie tablets and water. Jamie settled into the sofa. “Sorry,” Jamie murmured. 

“Just sleep,” Malcolm said. “I might be gone in the morning for work.”

Jamie nodded. He accepted the blanket tossed over him and closed his eyes. He could not sleep for the rhythmic thumping in his brain. He heard Malcolm get ready for bed and head off to the bedroom nearby. Jamie was still half-awake when he heard the phone ring and Malcolm leave a few hours later after the sun rose. Jamie did not know when he fell asleep, but when he woke, it was four in the afternoon. He smelled awful and his clothes were wrinkled. Jamie sat up and rubbed his face. He looked around. The flat was tidy and filled with books. The kitchen looked like it was used frequently. Jamie expected the books to be about music, but they were mostly about history, politics, journalism, and a few were on photography. It looked like the bookshelf of someone who had not gone to university but trained himself. 

When Jamie came back from the toilet, Malcolm returned. Malcolm looked him over and nodded. “Just wake up?”

“Yeah,” Jamie said. He rubbed his face. “Thanks for letting me stay. I really should go.” He had to prepare for tomorrow morning. “Next time, no weird stuff.” 

“Alright,” Malcolm said. He saw Jamie out. 

Easter was swift approaching. It was early this year at the end of March. Jamie’s workload increased and the only times he saw Malcolm was when Malcolm came to the house. It was late and Jamie was out in the garden on a bench to escape the noise. He could hear the music dissolve into an argument and when the voices quieted Malcolm stepped out back. Malcolm lit up a fag and then looked down at Jamie. “What the fuck are you doing out here?”

Jamie wanted to point out that he lived here, but he quelled the impulse. “Class,” he said. He closed his Bible and set it aside on his notebook. 

Malcolm nodded. He settled on Jamie’s left. Jamie watched Malcolm inhale and exhale from the fag. Malcolm glanced at Jamie and offered him one. 

This time Jamie took the fag. He turned it over in his fingers curiously. It was unfiltered. Jamie held it up so Malcolm could light it. He made certain to hold it like Malcolm was holding it, mindful of the lit end. 

The first few inhales were a disaster. Jamie coughed violently and his nose stung. He slowly began to understand the process. As he became more successful at the technique, Jamie could understand the appeal. It was built on oral fixation and nicotine. 

Malcolm’s shoulders relaxed once Jamie stopped coughing at every attempt. 

Neither spoke. Jamie noticed that there was hardly any space between them on the bench. Their knees almost touched. Jamie could imagine what it might feel like to run his leg against Malcolm’s leg. He could imagine Malcolm’s breath at his neck. The quandaries were too intense to ignore. Jamie frowned and looked away, exhaling carefully. He licked his lips and tried not to think about Malcolm’s mouth on his own. He felt like a teenager more than he had when he was a teenager. 

“Drinking beer and smoking fags,” Malcolm said. “What else will I get you to do before the end of the year?” 

Jamie snorted. “I’m not doing this because you do it,” he said. “You’re the only person who asks if I want to.” 

“Then what do you want me to ask you to do next?” Malcolm asked. 

Jamie looked over at him. Malcolm smirked. Jamie cleared his throat. “I don’t know.” He chased away the thoughts in his head. 

Malcolm snorted and put out his fag before it could burn his fingers. 

It was April. Malcolm took them to a club where the crowd large enough no one paid them attention but small enough that the crowd did not get too loud. The music was decent. It reminded Jamie of Malcolm, full of intensity, passion, and tight clothing. When Malcolm got what he needed and they were tired of the atmosphere, they headed out into the night. They walked aimlessly along the river. They neared the bus stop where they would part. Malcolm stopped walking. Jamie stopped and looked at him curiously. 

“I’m tired of hinting,” Malcolm said. “I’m tired of suggesting.” He ran a hand through his hair to get it out of his eyes. 

“What are you going to do?” Jamie asked. 

Malcolm stepped forward. He gripped Jamie’s shoulders tightly and kissed him. 

Jamie did not know what to do. He did not know where to put his hands. Kissing had not occurred to him until recently since he decided he did not want to kiss girls, let alone since he decided to give himself to God. Even when he had thought of kissing Malcolm before, he dismissed it so rapidly he never considered the probability that it might ever happen. He did not push Malcolm away. It tasted like the fags they shared and the alcohol they consumed. Jamie did not care. He wanted it to continue. 

Malcolm broke the kiss. Jamie had to do something. He knew he had to do something. Jamie took a deep breath and kissed Malcolm. It was sloppy, ill placed, but Malcolm corrected things. Jamie put his hands on Malcolm’s hips and Malcolm’s fingers slid through Jamie’s hair. Jamie took a breath, letting the kiss continue. His hands slid up Malcolm’s sides. 

Malcolm pulled back and broke the kiss. “Go. There’s the bus. It won’t wait.”

Jamie hesitated. 

“You can’t stay over. Go,” Malcolm said and nudged Jamie towards the bus. 

Jamie nodded. “See you later.” He waved and ran. He caught the bus just before it could leave. 

It was hard to pay attention in some of Jamie’s classes. His mind returned to his deception, to the temptation of Malcolm. Jamie never anticipated this type of temptation. He did not expect to have fingers tugging on his hair and lips pressed to his. He never expected a tongue probing his own. He felt like a liar. He was training to be something he was not sure he could be. He knew he could not express these desires. He knew what the Bible said. He should not treat a man as a man might treat a woman. Sodom and Gomorra met their ends due to this type of lust. 

“Something troubles you,” one of the priests who worked at the campus chapel said. 

Jamie looked up from his sweeping. He could not lie to this man. This priest had always been kind to Jamie and treated him in a way that reminded Jamie of the only grandfather who survived long enough for Jamie to know him. “I…I…I feel lust,” Jamie said after a long pause. “I met someone and I lust after them.” His eyebrows furrowed. His hands gripped the broom tighter. 

The priest listened. He was quiet at first just in case Jamie had more to admit. “Perhaps it’s God’s way of saying there’s more for you than just your faith.” He placed one hand over his other hand and observed Jamie. “Maybe this is not the path you’re meant to continue,” he said. 

Jamie frowned. He looked down at his broom. He gripped it so tight he had to let go when he felt a splinter in his palm. “Fuck,” he said. He froze. “I mean…. I…” He looked at the priest. “Sorry.”

“James,” the priest said. “James, think about what you really want. Pray to God and see what He has to show you. Maybe it’s time for you to leave seminary or it’s time for you to end this temptation.”

Jamie looked at the priest and nodded. “I will,” he said. He finished his chores before heading back home. 

Jamie began to explore his options for the next term. He never thought about what he would do if seminary stopped appealing to him. He visited campuses when he could get away on weekends. He looked into various programs. Jamie sat on the bench near St. Andrews cathedral and looked through the folded up brochures in his pockets. He put them back in his pockets when he saw Malcolm approach. 

Jamie knew that signs from God were complicated and subtle. He observed Malcolm. Those hips were a sign of something. Jamie did not know if it was from above or below, but it was hard to look away. 

“Rethinking the priesthood?” Malcolm asked with a smirk. His tone was light. 

Jamie snorted. “Wishful thinking?” He joined Malcolm.

Malcolm and Jamie were back at the first club they went to tonight. The band was different and it was easy to tell who in the crowd was a regular of the club and who followed the band. When the band neared the end of their set, Jamie finished off the beer in his glass and then leaned forward on his seat. He stopped gripping the edge of his seat and then let his hand rest on Malcolm’s knee. Jamie slid his fingers along the curve. Malcolm was very thin and his bones and joints prominent. Jamie’s hand moved to Malcolm’s thigh, which was easier to touch less suspiciously if anyone looked at them. 

Malcolm’s fingers slid across the top of Jamie’s hand. He gently removed it from his thigh. “Don’t start something you don’t intend to finish,” Malcolm said. He met Jamie’s gaze and held it. Malcolm’s face was relaxed, open. 

“I want to finish it,” Jamie said. “If not tonight, then someday.”

Malcolm grew quiet, thoughtful. He let go of Jamie’s hand so he could make another note. Then Malcolm curved his fingers along Jamie’s knee. His fingers slid up Jamie’s inner thigh until Malcolm got to mid-thigh, his fingers slid around to the outer side of Jamie’s thigh, and up along Jamie’s hip. Malcolm’s hand fell away. 

Jamie shivered. He bit his tongue. 

“Are you sure you want to finish it?” Malcolm asked. He let his fingers return to tap gently against the top of Jamie’s thigh. 

Jamie licked his lips. “I want to try,” he said. “I can’t promise,” Jamie’s breath caught when Malcolm’s fingers slid along his inner thigh before Malcolm pulled his hand away. “I can’t promise how tonight will end,” he said quietly. 

Malcolm nodded. “It’s up to you. If you think you’re ready, I will take you home with me.”

They went to Malcolm’s flat. Jamie was not sure how this would go or how to start it. He followed Malcolm like a shadow. When they were inside Malcolm’s flat, Jamie stayed near the door and watched Malcolm move deeper into the room. Malcolm looked back at Jamie. Malcolm pulled his leather jacket off and hung it on a hook. Neither spoke. Jamie looked at Malcolm, searching his gaze. Jamie played with a fray on the hem of his jumper. Malcolm took a breath. He reached out and grasped the bottom of Jamie’s jumper and then pulled it over Jamie’s head and let it hang on another hook near the door. 

Jamie held Malcolm’s gaze. Jamie took a breath. He rested his hands against Malcolm’s stomach and then ran them up over Malcolm’s chest to his shoulders. Jamie kissed Malcolm. Malcolm kissed back. Malcolm’s arms wrapped around Jamie, drawing him closer. Jamie’s fingers ran through Malcolm’s hair. Malcolm broke the kiss and mouthed along Jamie’s neck. Jamie made a noise in the back of his throat and shivered. 

Malcolm pulled back and grasped Jamie’s hand. He tugged Jamie into the bedroom. “If you don’t like something, say so,” he said. It looked from the way Malcolm had to think about what he said that it had been a while since he had sex with a virgin. “People fuck each other because it’s fun.” Malcolm turned on one of the lights in his room. His bed was made. Everything was tidy and clean. Malcolm let go of Jamie’s hand, went over to his dresser, and opened the top drawer. 

Jamie watched Malcolm from the foot of the bed. “What are we going to do exactly?” It only now occurred to Jamie that he only knew how men and women had sex together from a textbook standpoint and even then, he felt like if Malcolm were a woman, Jamie would be just as ill equipped as he was now. Jamie had a vague idea of how men had sex together given the definition of sodomy, but he knew there was no way Malcolm was going to put anything up Jamie’s ass and no way Jamie would put anything up Malcolm’s ass that night. 

Malcolm stopped rifling through the drawer. He had handcuffs dangling from a finger and a spoon in his other hand. “What do you mean ‘what exactly?’” he asked. There was a pause and then Malcolm nodded. “Right. Of course, nobody would have told you.” He set lube on top of the dresser along with a package of condoms. He shuffled through the drawer one last time and closed it. “I’m not going to fuck you up the arse,” Malcolm said. 

“Yeah, I know,” Jamie said. He looked at the lube and the condoms. He hoped this was not a night to discover any unknown awkward allergies. “I’m not doing anything like that,” he said. 

Malcolm nodded. “Most wouldn’t the first time.” He ran a hand through his own hair. “What we’re going to do,” he said, “is,” he paused as though he really wanted to finish the sentence with the word “fuck” and leave it at that, but Malcolm clearly knew that was not the answer Jamie was looking for, “get naked and get each other off.” He looked at Jamie then. “Is that alright?”

Jamie nodded. He shifted his weight at the thought of Malcolm’s fingers places only Jamie’s had ever been. “Yeah,” he said. He took a deep breath. 

Malcolm deposited the condoms and lube on the night table. He walked over to Jamie. Malcolm slid his hands underneath Jamie’s vest. His fingers pressed firmly into Jamie’s skin as he eased the vest up over Jamie’s head and cast it aside. Jamie worked at the buttons on Malcolm’s shirt. He pulled the shirt off and tossed it over where his vest went. Jamie looked at Malcolm and ran his tongue along his lips. His eyes followed the trail of hair from Malcolm’s waistband up his abdomen and across his chest. Jamie took a breath and moved towards Malcolm. 

This kiss was a fight for exploration. Their tongues slid against one another. Their hands took turns undoing the clasps on their belts and loosening their trousers so they could step out of the garments. Malcolm tackled Jamie to the bed. Jamie yelped and his nails dug into Malcolm’s skin to brace his fall. Jamie’s legs dangled off the side of the bed. Before Jamie could squirm away, Malcolm bit Jamie’s neck and sucked on the bite. Jamie made a strangled noise from the back of his throat. He had to teach himself to keep quiet when masturbating with such a large family beyond any closed door. Since leaving home, things had not been any more private. 

Malcolm’s right hand explored Jamie’s chest while his left hand stayed on the bed for balance. Malcolm’s free hand moved steadily downwards, sliding along Jamie’s hip before stroking his inner thigh. Jamie shivered. His hands moved up Malcolm’s back, feeling the texture of Malcolm’s skin and the occasional strand of hair. 

Malcolm sucked on Jamie’s abdomen and ran his tongue up his side, skirting around the hair on Jamie’s torso. He took one of Jamie’s nipples gently in his teeth and tugged. 

“Fuck,” Jamie whispered, finding it increasingly difficult to stay quiet. He hated how his entire body was on fire so quickly. He felt like all Malcolm had to do was rub him through his pants and he would come. 

“You can make noise,” Malcolm said. He ran his hand along Jamie’s stomach, watching Jamie’s reaction. The pressure of Malcolm’s fingers varied as he explored, searching for any interesting reactions. 

Jamie squirmed when Malcolm’s fingers glided across a strip of skin just under his ribcage. “I don’t make noise,” Jamie said. 

Malcolm stroked the strip of skin again. Jamie closed his eyes, but he could still feel Malcolm’s gaze. Malcolm ran his tongue along the spot and then sucked on it. Jamie’s heartbeat seemed louder. He felt a jolt shoot through him from his stomach to his groin. Jamie let out a quiet moan. 

Malcolm’s mouth moved away. His hands moved steadily lower, pulling Jamie’s pants down at they went. Jamie took a deep breath. He watched Malcolm, keeping eye contact. Once his pants were around his legs, Jamie squirmed out of them and kicked them off a foot. Jamie was not sure what he was supposed to do with his eyes. He felt Malcolm’s fingers run up his inner thigh. Jamie tried to watch but it was a strange perspective. His eyes moved to the ceiling. He felt Malcolm’s fingers rub and slide along his testicles. 

“Okay?” Malcolm asked quietly. The tip of his finger moved up and curved along the base of Jamie’s shaft. 

“Y – Yeah,” Jamie said. He looked at Malcolm. He did not want Malcolm to stop. 

Malcolm nodded. He slid the tips of his fingers up the underside of Jamie’s shaft and then rubbed the tip with his thumb. Jamie could feel the textural differences of Malcolm’s fingers and every guitar callous. Jamie moved into Malcolm’s touches. Jamie did not know where to look or what to do. His eyes returned to the ceiling. There was a damp patch in the corner. Once he saw it, Jamie could not ignore it. It reminded him of the sad excuse of a campus in Newlands. He could almost smell the perpetual musty mould that seemed to permeate more than one of the classrooms. The memory of the smell ruined everything. Jamie felt himself go flaccid in Malcolm’s hand. Jamie tried to summon sexual desire, but his brain went to the professor with the yellowing teeth or how one of the students in front of Jamie always smelled strangely of tuna fish. Jamie met Malcolm’s gaze and then looked away. “Sorry,” Jamie said. 

Malcolm let go of Jamie. He sat on the bed beside Jamie and ran a hand through his own hair. 

Jamie sat up slowly. He looked at Malcolm. Malcolm rubbed his face. Jamie did not know what to say. Jamie was not sure if he should leave or stay. 

“Go back to God,” Malcolm said. “Go back and tell Him you fucked up and maybe He’ll forgive you.” 

Jamie looked at Malcolm. He licked his lips and then slid off the bed and found his pants and trousers. Jamie opened his mouth and then closed it. He put on his shoes and stuffed his socks in his pockets. He pulled his vest back on. He looked back at Malcolm on the bed. “You…uh…the ceiling,” Jamie said, “it’s mouldy.” He shuffled out of the room, pulled his jumper back on, and saw himself out of the building. 

Jamie could not confess these sins. He thought about speaking of them vaguely, but it felt like he would be lying to God. He hid from the chapel. He stopped visiting St. Andrews. He stopped going to classes and he dropped out of seminary. Jamie began buying fags. He began to go into Glasgow at night and explored his options. He got a job at a petrol station to sustain him until he decided where he wanted to go and what he wanted to do. 

It was a weeknight and Jamie returned home from a club. He had the second shift tomorrow at the petrol station. He opened the door just as Malcolm was about to leave. No other band members who did not live with Jamie were in sight. Jamie could see his housemates disappearing up the stairs. Jamie stepped back to let Malcolm out. 

Neither of them spoke. Jamie lingered and did not enter the house. Jamie shut the door and remained on the steps. Malcolm did not leave. “I’m not going to be a priest,” Jamie said. He reached out, testing to see if Malcolm might turn away, and ran his fingers along Malcolm’s face when Malcolm did not reject the touch. “I know I fucked up. I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to finish it.” 

Malcolm ran his fingers up Jamie’s hand, and then he removed Jamie’s hand from his face. “Are you ready to finish it?” He did not let go of Jamie’s hand. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. 

Malcolm ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “Prove it.”

Jamie felt the frustration that built up inside him surge. He grasped Malcolm by the shirt and swung Malcolm around so he could pin him up against the door. Jamie leaned up and kissed Malcolm, rough and demanding. Malcolm’s hands squeezed Jamie’s hips. Jamie’s hands slid underneath Malcolm’s shirt. Jamie broke the kiss to suck on Malcolm’s neck. Malcolm squeezed Jamie’s ass. Jamie buried his face in Malcolm’s neck to muffle a groan. “Don’t make me get you off out here,” Jamie murmured. 

“Then open the door,” Malcolm said. 

It was hard to be quiet heading up the stairs. Jamie locked the door of his room behind them. He looked at Malcolm and licked his lips. Malcolm and Jamie took turns divesting each other of clothing. Malcolm pinned Jamie up against the wall beside his closet so Jamie faced the wall. Malcolm sucked on Jamie’s spine, leaving marks. Jamie’s fingers curled against the wall. Malcolm grabbed Jamie’s ass and kneaded it. Jamie bit his tongue and shivered. Jamie took a deep breath and then turned around and knocked Malcolm down onto the floor. It was much louder than Jamie anticipated and he smacked his knee hard against the floor. Malcolm and Jamie listened but there was no indication anyone heard them or wanted them to know they heard. 

“Pretty sure they know anyway,” Jamie whispered in Malcolm’s ear. He wriggled along Malcolm’s body as he moved to kneel over him. Jamie’s eyes followed the lines of Malcolm’s body downwards. Jamie’s hand stroked Malcolm’s thigh. His fingers curved along Malcolm’s testicles. He felt Malcolm shiver. Jamie’s strokes were slow, tentative at first. It was strange trying to do what he did to himself to another person. Jamie leaned back on his knees so he could use both hands, his left stimulating whatever he could tease while his right continued to pump Malcolm. Jamie leaned over Malcolm and pulled out the drawer on his night table. He blindly felt around, pulled out a condom, and let a second condom drop to the floor for later. He ripped off the edge of the wrapper and with some finagling and figured out which side was the top. Jamie slid his fingers of his free hand along Malcolm’s shaft in thought. 

“Stop fucking around,” Malcolm said, “or it’s not going to matter.” He squirmed. His eyes watched Jamie intently. 

“Okay, okay,” Jamie said. He pinched the top of the condom and slid it over Malcolm’s tip, easing the skin aside as he rolled the condom down the shaft. Jamie had practiced on himself a few times. It looked like he had done it correctly. 

Jamie resumed what he was doing. He changed the movements of his hands. Jamie leaned down and sucked at Malcolm’s thigh, while continuing to pump him. Eventually, Malcolm came. Jamie tried his best to keep touching Malcolm until Malcolm was spent. They were both breathing heavily. Jamie moved off Malcolm.

Malcolm sat up, then removed the condom, tied it, and tossed it in a nearby bin. He eyed Jamie. “I should blindfold you,” he said. Malcolm moved closer, staying close to the floor. “Stay sitting,” he said. “Spread your legs.” 

Jamie watched Malcolm and did as he was told. Malcolm crept even closer and then started to suck on Jamie’s shoulder, his mouth slowly working its way towards Jamie’s neck. Malcolm’s hand rubbed small circles into Jamie’s inner thigh and moved upwards, his touches varying as they progressed. Malcolm’s mouth continued to leave marks. It was a distraction that kept Jamie’s eyes closed. Jamie felt Malcolm’s fingers move to his shaft. Malcolm’s rough fingers seemed to know how to tease and coax Jamie into an erection. Jamie let out a tiny whimper when he felt Malcolm’s hands move away. 

Malcolm kissed Jamie’s lips, then his face. He slid the condom down Jamie’s erection and resumed teasing Jamie. Jamie closed his eyes again. He felt Malcolm nip at his neck. Jamie let out a low growl when he came. 

Malcolm let go and sat back. Jamie moved so his legs so his hips could relax and his knees were closer together but not touching. They said nothing. They could hear nothing. Malcolm cleared his throat. 

“You can stay if you want,” Jamie said quietly. “The bed’s big enough.”

Malcolm ran a hand through his own hair. It was very late. Malcolm found his watch on the floor. “Alright,” he said. Malcolm studied his watch a moment as though calibrating his internal clock to time and space to wake up without an alarm. “Might as well make the most of the last night.” Malcolm set his watch in his shoe. 

Jamie pulled the covers back. The night was warm enough they would not need much more than the sheet. It was not the first time Jamie shared a bed, but it was the first time he could share one with someone who was naked. Malcolm let the sheet pool at his waist and wrapped an arm loosely around Jamie. Jamie rolled towards Malcolm and closed his eyes. Everything felt warm and safe. Jamie fell asleep easily. 

Everything felt cold and empty. Jamie woke, his eyes adjusting to the minimal light coming in through the window. Malcolm was gone. It was barely three hours later. Jamie sat up and looked around. Nothing of Malcolm’s remained. The door to Jamie’s room was closed. The birds outside his window chirped at each other loudly. Jamie frowned. He remembered the first time he stayed with Malcolm after the migraine Malcolm mentioning he might leave unexpectedly for work. Jamie sighed, pulled his blankets tight around him, and fell back asleep. 

It took two weeks to fully realize that Malcolm was gone. He was no longer at his flat. He no longer haunted the clubs. Sitting outside of St. Andrews turned up nothing. Malcolm’s music column no longer ran in _The Herald_ either. The band carried on without Malcolm. 

Jamie changed houses when his lease was up and changed schools. He got his degree in communications and became active in the Glasgow political scene. He managed a long-term partnership that dissolved when Jamie got the opportunity to go move to London when he was thirty. The political scene in London was larger, dirtier. Jamie clawed his way from the bottom to the top. A few fags a day became almost three packs a day. His language became coarser and his church attendance began to decline. By the time Jamie was thirty-seven, he was next door to becoming Senior Press Officer and a year removed from the end of his second long-term partnership. Elections were nearing and everything would change in the next few months. 

When the prime minister called for elections, he chose a political journalist to head his campaign. The whispers were everywhere in the office. The journalist was insane. He had rampages. Some said that he also had passion and would run a campaign unlike the previous one. 

Jamie heard footsteps approaching quickly. One of Jamie’s colleagues legged it down the hall with another man in pursuit. With one swift movement, the man had Jamie’s colleague against the wall. 

Jamie could not look away. The hair seemed familiar even though it was short and turning grey along the edges. 

“Don’t you ever fucking run from me,” Malcolm hissed in the colleague’s ear. “I will rip your spine out and shove it back in through your eye.” He lowered his voice and explained what he needed the colleague to do. Then Malcolm let the man go, stepped back, and watched the man scurry down the hall. Malcolm took a deep breath and looked at Jamie. 

Jamie had not thought of Malcolm in years. He opened his mouth and closed it. He felt everything negative and positive swirl around until he did not know what to say or how he felt. Jamie knew he should say something. “Are you the fucking attack dog pissing over everything?” Jamie asked. 

“I’m not fucking ‘pissing over everything,’” Malcolm said. “You better not be here to give us the last rights.”

“I’m as much a priest as you’re a politician,” Jamie said. 

Malcolm eyed him. “Is that how this is going to fucking be?” 

Jamie looked at Malcolm and then the wall his colleague was up against moments ago. “It’s not going to be you shoving me into the wall like some cunt.” 

Malcolm ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “Don’t give me a fucking reason.” 

Jamie’s attention returned to Malcolm and Jamie licked his lips. “I’ll do what I want.” 

They parted ways. Both of them had better places to be. 

It was a few days later. Jamie’s bosses sent him to do their dirty work. It was not the first time and it would likely not be the last. “I don’t know what we’re going to do with you,” Jamie said as he picked a stapler off the desk of the particular MP and flipped it around in his hand. Jamie opened it and slowly began to throw each staple haphazardly around the room one by one in different directions. “You can’t fucking stay on message.” He left the stapler open and set it back down. He picked up the pens out of the pen jar and began removing their caps, systematically snapping the pocket clip off each of them. “Do you even remember what we stand for? You sound like the fucking opposition.” He changed which caps were on which pens. The MP reached out and Jamie let the pens fall haphazardly into the pen jar, some falling into a nearby paperclip container, while others scattered onto the desk and rolled away. Jamie then covered the pens that remained loose on the desk with his hand so the MP could not right them immediately. Jamie leaned in and lowered his voice. “Stop fucking up or fuck off.” Jamie stopped leaning on the table and walked out of the room. 

Malcolm stood across the hall with his hands in his pockets and files tucked under an arm. He watched Jamie exit and did not speak until the door closed. ‘And you called me a fucking attack dog,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie eyed Malcolm. 

Malcolm stopped leaning on the wall. He had aligned himself in such a way that he could watch through the large window in the office without being seen easily. “I could use you.” 

Jamie put his hands in his pockets. He wanted a fag. “I know,” he said. “You need legitimisation. You need someone to stand up and say ‘That’s the fucker we need.’ You need to know when this election ends; you won’t end up back with the cunts in the press.” Jamie led them down the hall. He leaned against the door to the stairwell that would lead outside. 

Malcolm grasped the door so Jamie could not push it back far enough to leave yet. “It’s not about fucking legitimacy. It’s not about fucking validation.” Malcolm leaned down so their noses almost touched. Malcolm lowered his voice. “It’s about fucking domination.” 

Jamie’s heart rate increased. He held Malcolm’s gaze and then put a hand firmly on Malcolm’s chest, applying pressure. He did not push Malcolm, but he did not bend to him either. “I dominate,” he said. 

“That’s why I need you,” Malcolm said. He released the door. “I don’t want to rip your arse open; I want you to rip arses open.” 

Jamie nodded. “Alright, but you don’t get to fuck around with me like you do with everyone else.”

“Then you can’t fuck with me,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie nodded. “It’s a deal,” he said and headed out the door and down the stairs for his fag break. 

It was not a bad arrangement. They made a proficient bollocking team. Malcolm had the quiet, ruthless dictator edge to him. Jamie was a constantly simmering cauldron given to boiling over every so often. Malcolm ended up the Director of Communications after the election and Jamie ended up the Senior Press Officer, which lent weight and power to their presence. 

Jamie stood outside. It was raining and his umbrella kept his fags from getting wet. He saw Malcolm approach and adjusted the umbrella so Malcolm could stand underneath it. Jamie offered Malcolm a fag, but Malcolm declined. Malcolm said nothing. He watched Jamie’s smoke trail into the air. Jamie looked at Malcolm. He put out the nub of his fag and reached into the pack for another. He was on his next to last fag in this pack.

“It’s too quiet,” Malcolm said. 

“Don’t wish for a scandal,” Jamie said. 

“I don’t want a scandal,” Malcolm said. “I want it to fuck up before it gets to that point.” 

“There are a lot of ways to fuck it up,” Jamie said. He exhaled and followed Malcolm’s jawline with his eyes while Malcolm watched the rain dripping off the umbrella. Jamie licked his lips and looked away. Malcolm still smelled relatively the same. Malcolm had given up smoking at some point over the years, but the shampoo and the soap were the same. The aftershave was the same. Jamie could almost hear the music in the clubs and taste the cheap beer. Jamie could still feel Malcolm’s callouses and the texture of his lips. Jamie shifted his weight. He knew Malcolm had gotten a recent divorce. The wedding ring Malcolm wore at the start of election season was gone by the end. There were other signs Jamie had seen with so many colleagues over the years. Rate of non-government related phone calls, absences from work, and so forth. Jamie almost wondered who the woman had been or what she looked like. At the same time, he knew it was none of his business. 

Malcolm sighed and stepped out from under the umbrella. “There’s a three o’clock I need you at.” 

“I know,” Jamie said. He watched Malcolm leave. Jamie put out his fag a few puffs later. He could remember why he chose Malcolm almost fifteen years ago. Jamie was not sure he would choose Malcolm again. He realized he never asked Malcolm when they were together if Malcolm had ever been with another man before or if he only liked men or liked both men and women. There were so many questions. Jamie did not know if he wanted the answers or not. 

It was over a year later. Malcolm and Jamie were heading back to the offices after a meeting. Malcolm glanced back at Jamie. Malcolm waited for one of their colleagues to turn a corner and then he said so only Jamie could hear. “Do you want me to fucking bend over?”

“What?” Jamie asked. His eyes moved to Malcolm’s face. He was unsure where the conversation might head, but he was curious enough to let Malcolm explain. 

Malcolm turned around and backed Jamie up against a nearby wall. He put his hand firmly against Jamie’s shoulder and leaned in, lowering his voice. To anyone passing, it looked like Malcolm venting. “You keep watching my arse,” Malcolm said. His tone was non-accusatory and did not match his posturing. Malcolm’s voice remained quiet, keeping between only the two of them. 

Jamie took a deep breath. Malcolm smelled of spice and mint as he always did. Jamie licked his lips. “You keep showing me your arse.” 

The pressure on Jamie’s shoulder increased. Malcolm held Jamie’s gaze. Then Malcolm let go, his fingers sliding along Jamie’s shoulder. “We don’t have time for this,” Malcolm said. Jamie was not sure if that remark was meant for Jamie or for both of them. 

“Next time I get to pin you to the wall,” Jamie said. He rubbed his shoulder. “It’s been two years and you’re still pissing over everything.” 

Malcolm rolled his eyes. This time Jamie walked in step with Malcolm before they parted ways at the end of the hallway. 

It was late at night months later. Jamie had his hands over his face. He felt a lock of his curls wrap gently around a finger. The movement continued across his hair. He knew it was Malcolm. No one else was in the room, maybe even in the building. No one else would be bold enough to touch Jamie’s hair either. 

“Go home,” Malcolm said in the quiet, gentle voice Jamie only heard when they were alone or Malcolm dealt with someone Malcolm respected. 

Jamie let out a tiny grunt. His temples throbbed. There was nothing more he could do productively. The fingers continued to toy with his hair. He knew Malcolm was right. Jamie summoned up the energy to remove his hands from his eyes. Malcolm’s fingers slipped away. Jamie let out a disappointed sounding sigh. 

“I’ll call your partner, let him know to meet you half way,” Malcolm said. 

“No,” Jamie said. “We broke up a while ago.” Jamie’s nose wrinkled. He did not want to remember that night. It had been loud, confrontational, and had almost gotten out of hand. Jamie grabbed his bag and his coat. He rubbed his face. “Nobody’s home.” He felt the pain at his temples increase. “You can come if you want, fuck off home if you want. I don’t care.”

Malcolm fell into step with Jamie, turning out the lights as they left. They were the only politicians left in the building. The walk to Jamie’s house was not long. They did not speak. The air helped, but the streetlights did not. When Jamie let them into his house, he felt less nauseated, but the throbbing had yet to subside. 

“Sit,” Malcolm told him. 

“I’m not a fucking dog,” Jamie said, but he sat in his favourite chair in the sitting room. 

Malcolm disappeared and returned with tablets and water. He handed them to Jamie. “You bark when the prime minister says bark and bite when he says bite,” he said, still consistently using his quieter tone. 

Jamie made a face but took the tablets and dry swallowed them before drinking the water. He watched Malcolm sit nearby. The entire house was dark except for various clocks on appliances. Jamie could see Malcolm from the light through the window. All the things they could do, all the things they should do ran through his head. It was hard to tell the coulds from the shoulds. When the headache was just a dull throbbing, Jamie stood up and approached Malcolm on the chair. Jamie’s fingers moved through Malcolm’s hair. “Come upstairs,” Jamie said. “It’s late.”

“I might be gone when you wake up,” Malcolm said. “I don’t have an extra suit.” He leaned into Jamie’s fingers and closed his eyes. 

Jamie slid his fingers down along the back of Malcolm’s neck. “I know,” he said. He felt a shiver follow his fingers and move past them down Malcolm’s spine. Jamie took a breath. He knew what he wanted. “I’m not asking you to date me; I’m asking you to fuck me.” 

Malcolm reached up and ran his fingers along Jamie’s hand. Malcolm’s callouses were not as rough as they once been. The firm, deliberate touch was the same. His fingers curved along Jamie’s wrist in thought. Then Malcolm’s fingers dropped down onto the arm of the chair before he stood up and followed Jamie upstairs. 

When Jamie woke, he could feel the side of Malcolm’s face pressed against his back. There was an arm over Jamie’s waist. They were both naked. Jamie could not remember when his headache went away, but it had been gone before he fell asleep. Jamie’s thighs and other places ached. The clock beside the bed started buzzing. Jamie turned it off. He felt Malcolm’s hand resting against his stomach slide along his side and down the edge of Jamie’s hip before Malcolm pulled away and sat, his elbow resting on a knee. 

Jamie rolled onto his back and looked at Malcolm’s face. His eyes followed Malcolm’s jawline down his neck to his shoulder and his arm, around his elbow, and to his hand. 

Malcolm spread his fingers, acknowledging Jamie’s line of sight, and leaned over, running his nails up Jamie’s stomach and across his chest. Malcolm mouthed at Jamie’s neck and then nipped at Jamie’s earlobe. “I have to leave,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie moved into Malcolm’s nails. “I know.” 

Malcolm rolled out of the bed and found the pieces of his suit. He pocketed his tie. Jamie got out of bed and found his pants to put back on discarded with his trousers. He followed Malcolm down the stairs. They paused at the front door. Malcolm held Jamie’s gaze. His face was open, almost daring Jamie to do something before his hand twisted the doorknob. Jamie shoved Malcolm against the door and kissed him. Malcolm kissed back, Malcolm’s hands resting on Jamie’s hips. Jamie slowly, reluctantly let Malcolm go and the kiss finished. 

“Go make yourself presentable,” Jamie said. 

“I’m more presentable than you are right now,” Malcolm said. He slipped out the door. 

The next week found Malcolm and Jamie at Malcolm’s house. A few weeks later, they were back at Jamie’s house. It was about sexual pleasure and exploration. There was no set routine or pre-planning. It was sex for the sake of release. Months turned into two years and they kept gravitating towards each other whenever the opportunity allowed. It was not sex without emotion or sex without attachment, but it was sex without romance. There was their business relationship, their friendship, and their sexual exploits. These relationships were a gradient where friendship bled into work and sex. 

It was early in the morning. Jamie could not sleep. He could feel Malcolm’s forehead pressed against his shoulder and Malcolm’s hand against Jamie’s stomach. Jamie knew Malcolm would wake soon. Malcolm was his own human alarm clock with a margin of error of about ten minutes. Jamie flexed his ass and gently cracked his spine. He was forty-one and he felt it. He did not need glasses and he was still flexible, but there were small, tiny limitations that never existed before. 

Jamie licked his lips. One of the growing things niggling at his brain was the sexual aspect of this relationship. It was fun and enjoyable, which was why it persisted, but Jamie wanted more than that. This was a game for twenty and thirty-year-olds. It was a game he enjoyed, but did not want to play forever. 

Malcolm stirred. He stretched and then rolled away from Jamie onto his back. They were in Malcolm’s bedroom. The handcuffs were on top of the covers up against the footrest of the bed. Jamie rolled onto his stomach. His hip rested against Malcolm’s hip. Neither spoke. Jamie licked his lips. He could feel Malcolm’s eyes on him though it was hard to see in the dark.

“You’re awake,” Malcolm murmured. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said quietly. 

“For hours,” Malcolm said. 

“Yeah,” Jamie admitted. He looked in Malcolm’s direction. He could see Malcolm’s shadowed form in the minimal lighting. 

Malcolm rolled onto his side. “Say it,” he said. His voice was quiet, alert. Malcolm’s brain was good at functioning only moments after waking. 

Jamie was the opposite typically and grogginess tended to persist until caffeinating with exception. This morning was one of the exceptions. Jamie had been awake with too much to think about for over an hour now. Jamie sighed. “I don’t think I can fuck you casually anymore,” Jamie said. “I don’t want to wake up ten years from now still fucking you like all we know how to do is fuck each other and fuck over other people.”

Malcolm was quiet. He stretched and rolled onto his stomach. Their hips were still close enough to touch. “So, what do you want?” he asked. 

Jamie thought. There was no good way to word it. “I want a partner. I want more than to fuck a friend.” 

“I knew this would happen,” Malcolm said. He stretched again and his joints cracked in various places. 

“Of course it was going to happen,” Jamie said. “Did you think I’d fuck you every time the stars formed some cock constellation for the rest of our lives?” Jamie rolled over and sat. He ran his hands through his hair. 

Malcolm sighed. He sat up slowly. “You always start by asking me to fuck you,” Malcolm said. “You asked me to fuck you when we were young. You asked me to fuck you two years ago.” 

“And you let me fuck you,” Jamie said. 

“Of course I let you fuck me,” Malcolm said. “I want you to fuck me. I want to fuck you.” He got out of bed and stretched so his shoulders cracked at the same time. “I wanted to fuck you since the third time I talked to you.” He looked at Jamie. It was still too dark to see details, but the closer Malcolm stood to the window, the more Jamie could see of him. “You jump from partnership to partnership, from one arse to the next.”

Jamie stretched his legs. “And what do you do then?”

Malcolm tilted his head back and forth and then he said, “I’ve been in one partnership and one marriage. You know how long the last one was.” Malcolm paused. “I don’t want that kind of partnership right now.”

Jamie licked his lips. He had been right about Malcolm getting a divorce soon after the election years ago. Malcolm had told him about it over the years. Malcolm still wore the ring from time to time to keep others guessing his marital status. Jamie ran his hand through his hair. He got off the bed and started to collect his clothes. He brought a suit to change into with him the night before. Neither of them had drawers or closet spaces at the other’s house. “I know,” Jamie said. 

They showered separately and dressed separately. Breakfast was quiet and they kept to themselves at work in the morning hours. By lunch, there were rumours that Malcolm had cornered Ollie in the toilets. From that point onward, business proceeded as it always had. Jamie and Malcolm still functioned as attack dogs. Malcolm got reading glasses and the grey in his hair began to win over the brown. Jamie still chain-smoked, but where he was allowed to smoke was changing. 

Jamie felt an illusion of security in his position as Senior Press Officer. He knew that the job could not last, but it was a job he enjoyed. One morning there was a package on his desk along with an accompany letter. It was from Scotus College, which was what his seminary renamed itself a few years after Jamie left. He opened it and read the letter over twice. The priest who had always been kind to Jamie from the time he was a student there was dead. The priest left Jamie his Bible. Jamie felt a rush of memories he had not thought about in years return. He could still remember the look on the priest’s face when he encouraged Jamie to seek his own path even if that meant seeking it away from the church. The letter was from a solicitor and not the priest himself. Jamie opened the package and handled the Bible carefully. It was well read and fragile. Jamie did not know if the Bible was indicative of losing his way or a gesture to keep what faith he still had. Jamie put it in his top desk drawer and kept it there. 

Everything cycled. The seasons, political seats, and Jamie’s proximity to Malcolm. Once the prime minister resigned, everything changed rapidly. Jamie was unemployed. He was out of the London political scene. Malcolm somehow retained his position. Jamie had to leave London. He was uncertain what he would do, but there were job offers in Scotland. Jamie took a management position at a company. One of the senior management personnel worked closely with Jamie in London a few years ago. 

It was the night before Jamie would leave. Malcolm came over and brought wine and food for a final meal. They sat silently. Jamie got up and headed out to the garden. Malcolm followed. Jamie lit up a fag and sat on a bench, leaving room for Malcolm. Neither of them spoke. After the second fag was finished, Jamie rested his head on Malcolm’s shoulder. He closed his eyes. All he could smell was mint and spice apart from his own used fags. Even with their sexual relationship gone, Malcolm’s smell was calming. 

Malcolm rested his head on Jamie’s head. Jamie closed his eyes. They did not move until the breeze became too cold to be comfortable. 

Malcolm and Jamie fell out of contact. The party moved into opposition. Jamie moved to upper management. He watched the inquiry. Malcolm looked so different, so worn down and exhausted. Malcolm could not even worm his way out of the traps laid. Jamie knew things would end badly for Malcolm before it became blatantly obvious. 

It was fifteen years later. Jamie’s hair was now greying at and past his temples. He hounded after colleagues at the company he worked for like an aggressive herding dog. He went through another long-term partnership that ended when his partner died from lung cancer. Jamie had finally given up fags. He had a chronic cough that came and went each instance worse than the last. He was still active in the party locally. 

Jamie sat on the train heading towards the party conference in England. He had a book with him. He adjusted the distance of the book from his face. He could read it, but his denial that he needed glasses made things awkward. Jamie covered his mouth when he began to cough. The cough was drier than it had been earlier in the day. When it subsided, Jamie was close to his stop. He closed his book and stored it in his bag. Jamie took a lozenge out of a pocket and popped it in his mouth. 

The station was crowded. Jamie melted into a mass of people all going to the same place he was. Jamie glanced to his right absently and swallowed his lozenge instantly. He started to cough and struggled to force the lozenge down his oesophagus. He did not have time to think about the fact he thought he saw Malcolm in the sea of people before he started choking. His throat burned and his eyes watered, but the lozenge slipped down the rest of the way and Jamie began to breathe properly again. When he looked back to his right, Malcolm was not there. Jamie continued on his way to the hotel. 

Everything was crowded as expected. Jamie found his hotel room and heard the door next to his open. Jamie glanced up to see who was next door and paused. Malcolm stopped as well. Malcolm’s hair was a mix of greys and whites. He wore glasses and was in one of his fuzzy fleeces since the conference would not start until the next day. Jamie went to the conference every year he could. He wondered how many times he just missed spotting Malcolm. 

“I was going to get food,” Malcolm said. It was the way he always invited Jamie. 

Jamie nodded. He opened his door. “Come in, I want to check the room.” 

The room was what Jamie asked for. There was one bed and nothing seemed to be dirty or out of place. Jamie put his bag on one of the chairs. He let out a deep breath and rubbed his face. “Five hours on a fucking train.” 

“I had four,” Malcolm said. He rubbed his neck. 

Jamie could feel Malcolm’s eyes on him. Jamie checked his pockets for his wallet and looked at Malcolm. Jamie licked his lips. His eyes followed the lines around Malcolm’s eyes down the creases in his cheeks, and along the skin at his neck. The wrinkles were pronounced and deep. It added a strange appeal to Malcolm’s features. Jamie looked away and rubbed his face. “We can go now.” 

Most of the restaurants near the hotel were pretentious. There was a place nearby, however that smelled inviting and served pasta. Their table was in a corner where they could see things without attracting the maximum amount of attention. 

“You’ve stopped smoking,” Malcolm said after a long silence while they looked over the menu. 

“Three years now,” Jamie said. “I’ve seen your column.” About a year or two after the inquiry, Malcolm resurfaced with an online political column. It was popular enough that it was reprinted in newspapers from time to time. 

Malcolm and Jamie lived an hour apart by train. Malcolm relocated to Scotland around the time his column first appeared. The conversation drifted to the conference to their lives and jobs. Neither shared too much, but they did share more than they might have with other former colleagues. Malcolm’s niece had two more children and they sent him drawings and things as his niece’s oldest child did back when Malcolm worked with Jamie. Jamie did not talk about his most recent partnership, but he did talk about his own nieces and nephews. The youngest of which would sit their exams soon. The oldest nephew was planning to retire in the next two years. Jamie was the youngest of his siblings. His oldest sibling retired just before Jamie was out of the London political scene. 

Malcolm and Jamie had finished eating, but continued to talk about various subjects. Malcolm finally put his napkin on the table. “I saw Tweedle Cunt and Tweedle Cock earlier,” he said, referencing Dan Miller and Ollie. He paused. “We should do this again tomorrow,” Malcolm said. 

“Yeah,” Jamie said. It would be a way for them to vent about the conference. “Somewhere else, but not one of those places where they fold their napkins up like cunts.” Jamie twisted the napkin in his hand idly until it looked like something between a flower and a vulva. 

Malcolm snorted. “Have you even seen a cunt?”

“In magazines,” Jamie said. He untwisted the napkin and set it aside on the table. 

Once the bill was paid, they left the restaurant and slowly made their way back to the hotel. The conference was like any other conference Jamie went to except with less running and stress, as there was when he worked for London. Every night Malcolm and Jamie found a place they could sit, vent, and joke about the day’s events. They would return to Scotland on the same train. 

It was summer almost a year later. Jamie and Malcolm took turns seeing each other on weekends at least twice a month since the conference. With just an online column to answer to, Malcolm interacted with an editor who was half their age. Jamie’s own associates grew increasingly younger as well. Malcolm was welcomed every time Jamie saw him. 

It was over a year since the conference. Jamie’s laughter turned into coughing. The coughing tended to get better as the day lengthened, but this attack forced Jamie to stop walking. Jamie felt Malcolm’s hand against his back. Jamie took in a deep breath and swallowed down the phlegm in his throat. He wrinkled his nose and recovered. “Fucking hell,” he murmured. 

Malcolm’s hand pressed firmly between Jamie’s shoulder blades. People moved around them on the pavement with the occasional annoyed glance back at them. “I can see why you fucked off smoking,” Malcolm said. 

Jamie sighed. “This started after,” he said. He led them to the door of his house. He unlocked the door and let them inside. The interiors were earth tones and dark colours as they always were when Jamie was left to his own décor. Jamie took a breath and rubbed his face.

Malcolm set his bag near the door. He came to Jamie’s to spend the weekend so they could see a concert on Saturday night. “Sit,” Malcolm said. 

“I’m not going to fucking sit,” Jamie said. “What do you think I do when you’re not here?” He led the way to the kitchen. He knew they could have picked up take away, but making food together was part of how they functioned. 

Jamie started getting things around to eat. Malcolm helped. Without speaking, they were aware of the other’s position and moved as though their bodies were naturally coordinated with each other. The chopping was rhythmic. Jamie felt his shoulders relaxing as the aromas filled the kitchen. The soup was simmering and the garlic bread was toasting in the oven. Jamie looked at Malcolm. They stood beside one another, their arms at their sides. Malcolm had his weight on his right and Jamie his weight on his left. Their bodies gravitated towards one another. Jamie touched Malcolm’s arm and left the kitchen. 

Malcolm and Jamie shared Jamie’s bed even though there was no sexual aspect to the night or their friendship. Jamie woke the next morning curled up to Malcolm. Their ankles were loosely hooked together and Jamie’s head was tucked under Malcolm’s chin. He knew they started the night with ample space between each other. Jamie slowly slid his feet away and then rolled away until he could put his feet on the floor. Jamie pulled his vest away from his skin, letting in the air in the bedroom. He looked over his shoulder and watched Malcolm roll away onto a colder part of the sheets. Jamie snorted and went for a shower. 

As summer changed to autumn, Malcolm and Jamie began to see each other more frequently. Malcolm could do his work from anywhere and Jamie’s weekends were free more often than not. When they were younger, they would spread out on the floor to work sometimes. Now they lay on Malcolm’s bed with Jamie’s head against Malcolm’s stomach while Malcolm finished handwriting a draft of his next article and Jamie checked through his work e-mails on his mobile. Jamie was not congested for now and his eyes drifted from the screen of his mobile to the window to the ceiling. He turned his head slightly and looked over at Malcolm. Malcolm let out a tiny squirm at the slight movement against his stomach. He glanced down at Jamie. “Don’t start,” he said. 

Jamie turned his head so he could look at the ceiling. “I’m not starting.” He licked his lips. It was an old game. Malcolm was not a very ticklish person, but certain things would set him off. Jamie had laid perpendicular to Malcolm with his head on Malcolm’s stomach enough to know how to move his head for maximum teasing.

Malcolm swatted Jamie with his notepad. He went back to writing. 

Jamie breathed in and out. He finished off an e-mail and listened to Malcolm’s pen move across the notepad. Jamie let his mobile sit on the edge of the bed and then he nudged it with a finger so it slid off and onto the floor. He knew the mobile could handle the fall. He heard Malcolm writing the final line of the article. It included much pen tapping and then hurried, dramatic scrawling as Malcolm’s hand tried to keep up with his brain. Then Malcolm placed the pen in the binding of the notepad and let it fall onto his bedside table. 

Jamie stretched from his feet to his hands to his neck. He felt Malcolm squirm in response to the movements of Jamie’s head. Jamie counted to three in his mind. When Jamie got to three, Malcolm rolled out from under Jamie, set his glasses aside, and moved so he could pin Jamie to the bed. Jamie squirmed away and tried to pin Malcolm to the bed instead. Their hands grasped at one another, their legs slid against each other. Malcolm eventually grasped Jamie’s wrists, brought Jamie’s hands up above Jamie’s head, and straddled Jamie’s stomach. Malcolm firmly pressed Jamie’s wrists against the bed. Malcolm’s eyes followed the curve of Jamie’s arm down to his shoulder and then to Jamie’s face. Malcolm ran his tongue along the edge of his teeth. “Whatever you start, I will finish.” 

Jamie licked his lips. He held Malcolm’s gaze. “Then finish it,” he said without hesitation or thought to the consequences. 

Malcolm’s grip on Jamie’s wrists tightened. There was a pause. Malcolm ran his tongue along his teeth in thought. He leaned down and ran the edge of his tongue along the side of Jamie’s face, starting at the stubble at Jamie’s chin and gliding up until he pulled away at Jamie’s temple. Jamie wrinkled his nose. 

“How fucking old are you?” Jamie asked. 

Malcolm leaned back and his grip on Jamie’s wrists lessened. He snorted. “You said, ‘finish it,’ so I did.” He let go of Jamie’s wrists. Malcolm stopped straddling Jamie and got off the bed. He squeezed Jamie’s knee. “We can’t lie around all fucking afternoon.” 

Jamie rolled off the bed, picked his mobile up off the floor, and pocketed it before following Malcolm downstairs. Jamie let out a quiet sigh. The desire was there, but they were in a good place, a steady place. It was more than sexual desire for Jamie. The time away from Malcolm seemed too long even though the wait grew steadily shorter. He wanted more than they had. The only thing keeping Jamie back from saying so was his company. It was growing too big for its current office and the owners wanted to expand to London. If that happened, Jamie would move hours away from Malcolm. Jamie did not want to start something with Malcolm that would be interrupted. 

It was just before Christmas when Jamie found out that the company would open a second branch and expand business into London. They wanted him at the new location now that he was senior management. Jamie had permission to talk about the expansion only to those that it might affect in his personal life. He could finally tell Malcolm. On Friday, as planned, Jamie took the train to see Malcolm for the weekend. Malcolm met him at the station. 

“I need to talk to you,” Jamie said. He led the way away from the taxi queue and down the pavement. 

“You’re not dying,” Malcolm said, though it almost sounded like he was asking if Jamie was dying. 

“I’m not fucking dying,” Jamie said. He organized his thoughts. He walked towards the river where no one was about. He stopped near the barrier between the pavement and the river and looked at Malcolm. “They need me in London,” a pause, “permanently.” The deal was until Jamie retired, but Jamie could not see himself retiring soon if ever.

Malcolm frowned. “When?”

“We start the transition in January. I have to be there full time by April,” Jamie said. “I couldn’t tell anyone until things finalised.” 

Malcolm took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Something always tries to fuck this up,” he said. “This time it’s not one of us.” He put his glasses back on. 

“Then let’s not fuck it up this time,” Jamie said. He licked his lips. “Come with me,” he said. “Live with me. Let’s do it properly this time.” 

“If I come with you,” Malcolm said, “it’ll be my last partnership. I want this to be my last partnership. No fucking around, no fucking it up. There’s no point if it’s not going to be serious.”

Jamie nodded. He took a breath. They had known each other for almost forty years. The thought of spending the next ten or twenty was appealing. “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t want it to fuck it up either.” He reached out and grasped the collar of Malcolm’s coat. Jamie ran his index fingers and thumbs along the edges of the material and looked up at Malcolm. He let go to grasp Malcolm’s shoulders and kissed him. Malcolm returned the kiss. Malcolm’s arms wrapped around Jamie and Jamie’s fingers found their way into Malcolm’s wiry hair. The kiss dissolved into smaller, shorter kisses until finally they pulled back, Jamie’s hands settling onto Malcolm’s shoulders and Malcolm’s hands resting loosely on Jamie’s waist. Their foreheads touched and they closed their eyes. 

“Come with me,” Malcolm said quietly. He took a deep breath. 

Jamie took a deep breath of his own. The smell was full of mint and spice. He let go of Malcolm and stepped back. “Lead the way.”

**The End**


End file.
